A hideous temptation to call a fic 'Sofa, So Good'
by TheRimmerConnection
Summary: Ford and Arthur, reunited at the beginning of the Tertiary phase, consider their positions... especially once they're on that flying sofa. A certain amount of slash and a vaguely unsettling feeling ensue...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: The idea for this forced itself upon me late last night and I had to write it. Not sure I like it, it's completely different to how I usually write Ford/Arthur and I'm not happy with them for making me write them like this, but it intrigued me enough to post, so I'm giving it a go ;}

Disclaimer: They're not mine. If they were, this possibility would not be available.

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Look at him, sitting over there on the rock.

'Good idea,' he said. Like it's nothing at all to creep up on me after four years and interrupt me just when I've made the perfectly rational decision to go mad. He's ruined all my plans. I mean, I can't go mad in _company_ can I?

Four years I've been stuck here waiting for him to come and rescue me. Four years of hanging around on my own wishing I had a decent oven. Four years of loneliness and misery and he just waltzes back and starts chatting away as if nothing has happened.

He's babbling on about something or other now. Something about laundrettes and poor-quality fabric dye. I'm agreeing with him out of habit more than anything else, as I haven't the faintest idea what he's on about.

I suppose he expects me just to come along with him, wherever it is he's planning on going next. I ought to say no. I mean, really it's a bit much. He's got to learn that he can't do this to me. Besides, I've got responsibilities here now. Okay, the Elms won't exactly miss me and the Sycamore are too wrapped up in themselves to notice, but I'd like to think Willow One might shed a slight tear.

Oh, hello, there's a sofa in the field just across from us. He seems to think we ought to be chasing it. Well, it's hardly my place to question him. He's even got that wretched _Guide_ back again, so he probably knows what he's doing. Damn him. I ought not to follow. That would teach him...or maybe it wouldn't, but I have to, either way. Four years living in a cave gives you plenty of time to just sit back and think. I've done a lot of thinking.

I have been, in my time, an extremely normal and rational man, not given to peculiar behaviour...not much given to anything if I'm really honest about it. Back on Earth, Ford Prefect represented a departure from all that. A chance to interact with someone pleasantly strange in safe and controlled circumstances. He was fairly good-looking, which meant that people forgave him his little drunken foibles and I could be friends with him without any danger of social ostracism. He was friendly too. An arm around my shoulder, a beery, slobbery kiss that I could push away and not mention in the morning. That's all. I liked it.

I still like it. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Well, I'm not sure if that's true, but four years on prehistoric Earth has taught me that there is very little point in not admitting that you love somebody just because they're the wrong sex...or species. Although I'm still not sure I can admit it to his face, I can say it in here where no-one can hear me. I love Ford Prefect.

Bugger. A ditch. Soggy pyjamas right up to my knees. Ah well, same old same old. Ford has almost caught the sofa. There, he's caught hold of the arm. He's in. Hang on...the sofa is fading in and out of focus...like it might be about to disappear. It _is_ going to disappear! I'll never make it. He's calling me. Holding out his hand. I won't make it, not a chance...

He grabbed my hand, at the very last moment he hauled me onto the sofa, so that now I'm sprawled on top of him like some sort of over-affectionate Labrador. His arms are still around me from pulling me onto the sofa and he is breathing heavily into my neck. My breathing's pretty loud too, truth be told. I haven't chased a sofa for a while.

His smell is filling my nostrils. God I could drown in that smell. It's probably not that pleasant, actually, but I haven't had a proper wash for half a decade, so I suppose my nostrils are used to a low level of olfactory unpleasantness. Anyway, underlying it all is glorious Ford. It is dust and roast dinner. It is the smell that hits you when you come home again after a prolonged absence: comforting, a special smell you cannot detect day-to-day.

His hand is sliding up the side of my neck and into my hair. That is...unexpected. I didn't know he was even vaguely interested. I mean, I'm sure he _would_, I've heard enough of his and Zaphod's sexual exploits to know that what they haven't tried in the bedroom isn't worth trying. Still, it is vaguely flattering and... oh dear, disastrously arousing too. He can feel it. He has pushed me back enough to be able to look into my eyes. I am transfixed. They're so...blue.

'Oh, Zark it,' he says, and kisses me. I wouldn't say it's the best kiss I've ever had. Rushing in a screaming, black vortex through space and time rather militates against delicacy and romanticism. It's a rough kiss, but it's Ford and my heart is in it. Neither of us tastes particularly good and my beard is tickling his nose, but he's not put off. His hands are under my pyjama top. His fingers are running along the waistband of my trousers. God, no, he can't do that here, not now, not. Ohhh.'

I love him, I love him, I love him! He seems to know just what to do. Just where to press, just when to stop, and go. I've slipped my hands underneath him, inside his trousers. I have never been so forward in my life, but he started it, and who's looking anyway? He's been walking plenty, climbing too, to judge from the firmness of his buttocks. He's not exactly unaroused by this either. If I take hold of him like that and just raise myself up like this so that I can squeeze like that...

Five or so years ago I would never have done that. Not in a million years. I would have got up, embarrassed and walked away to get a cup of tea and deny that I actually wanted to stay. If only I could have known that this contented feeling would be the reward, I would have accepted one of his drunken kisses back then. Or maybe I wouldn't. After all, there are some things one has to stand by. But not in a patch of space that doesn't even know it's space, and not when you've got Ford Prefect in your arms at last and this time you can keep him.


	2. Chapter 2

Look at him, wandering around talking to his trees. Nice try, Arthur. You're not getting out of life that easily.

'Good idea,' I call out to him. He looks round like a startled deer. He's a classic case when it comes to bewilderment.

Four years he's stayed here, not gone anywhere, not tried to find me or do anything much about his situation. I'm glad of that. I admit I'd have been a bit annoyed if I'd come back and found him gone. Particularly since I've got this disturbance showing up on the sub-ether wavelength, which looks like it might just be our ticket off this miserable hole of a planet. If, and only if I can persuade him to actually do as he's told. It was hard enough the last time, but I like the man. I can't just leave him here. Not when he's so essentially helpless.

He's still going on about his trees. It's all low level stuff of course. He's just missed the company, needs a good chat, then he'll be fine, back to normal in no time. He will follow me. I can sense it. He's been too lonely _not _to follow me. I think he's a bit sore, actually, that I left him for so long on his own, but I had things to do. Now, I certainly have something to do. I'm going to catch that sofa.

It's a devil to catch. It has that cheeky _can't catch me _ air about it that only the truly inanimate can muster. I will get it though. So will Arthur.

He's been pretty decent to have around. Zarquon knows why I stayed around him so much, but he was good back on Earth. I don't usually get stuck anywhere for so long, and having Arthur around helped. I enjoyed all those evenings down the pub. I liked having him there to lean on or pour out my soul to when I'd had a bit much to drink. I liked the way his door was always open to me, no matter how much he moaned. He's pretty loveable really, in his own way, and he reminds me that the universe _is_ exciting and big. There's nothing like bringing a tourist along to make you appreciate the local attractions.

He's not going to make it, not on his own. He wasn't listening when I warned him about that ditch, or if he was, then he didn't take any notice. He's wet to his knees now and it's slowing him down. I'm yelling at him to jump and he is trying, but he's too far away. He's fading in and out, I'm losing him...

Got him! At the last moment I managed to grab his wrist and pull him on top of me. He's lying in my arms and he's warm and zarking heavy. Smells a bit, but then, so do I. It's an occupational hazard of living wild for a few years.

Still, I don't know about him, but four years without so much as a sight of another person may not be terminal, but it does make you zarking randy when suddenly you've got one on top of you.

I wouldn't normally. This is Arthur. He's nice and all that, but he's so...so set in his ways. So human. He doesn't do that sort of thing. I know. I've had that conversation with him before. He was far drunker than me at the time and I don't think he remembers it, but even in his drunken state he wouldn't admit that he could ever be enticed into bed with another man. But hey! We're spiralling through time and space to Zark knows where and when, and I've got a bit of time to kill. May as well have a try.

I'll just run my hand up his neck into his hair and see what he does. I can bluff my way out of that one if he turns nasty.

He liked it. At least, I suppose from the activity down near my thigh that he liked it. Let's take a look.

He's lost. I can see it in his eyes. He's not going to resist. He wants to. Poor little human. Keeping company with your own hand never is quite satisfying enough, is it? Oh Zark it. I'll kiss him.

It's a pretty rough kiss. I wouldn't give myself many points out of ten for it, but he seems to be enjoying it as much as me, so I'm not going to stop. He's a decent enough kisser himself, even if that beard is as scratchy as all hell. Let's see if he can keep that up when I start to play downstairs.

Well, in four years I obviously haven't lost my touch. He's squirming like nobody's business, but he's generous. He's keeping it fair, and he's not bad in that department either...no, not bad...at...all...

Five years or so ago he would never have done that. I know he wouldn't. Don't suppose he'll ever do it again either. Probably get all embarrassed, or conveniently forget about it once we get wherever we're going. No matter. I wouldn't want him to get the idea that we were... well, you know. Commitment and all that. It's not really my thing. I don't intend to stay with him forever. Not for long now. Not once I've got him settled somewhere civilised. I'll be on my way then. After all, there are some things one has to stand by. I'm a loner, when the mood takes me, and nothing and nobody can change that. Not even a warm Arthur Dent in my arms. Nice enough until we land though.

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_Evil naughty Ford. Sorry. I don't usually think of him like that, but it's in there somewhere. I'm off to write something extremely fluffy to make up for it now X} Please do review to assuage (or add to) my trauma ;P_


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